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He preferred not to rely on tracking data, so he wasn’t too concerned. Just because a suspect had been at a certain place at a certain time didn’t mean they’d killed anyone, and, in Josiah’s opinion, the courts were often too lazy in their willingness to take it as proof of guilt.

He noticed a slight look of surprise on Alexander’s face at the news there was no Tracker Plus on him, though; had Elliot told him he was being more closely monitored than he actually was?

He brought up the Dacre case file on his holopad. The Inquisitus AI bots were all over it already, detailing every social networking interaction Dacre had ever made, every text and email he’d sent and received, every public appearance recorded, and every bill he’d paid. They’d sift through the data and flag anything unusual, although Josiah always liked to get it double-checked by human eyes as well.

“When will the boxes from the crime scene arrive?” he asked.

“Just had a call to say they’re on their way. Should be here soon. Mel is prepping the lab.”

“And the body?”

Reed glanced at the reams of data emanating from his holopad. “Baumann got back just after us. She logged the body in a couple of minutes ago.”

“Right. Start the standard homicide protocol. I want all local CCTV footage collected, and all nearby residents doorstepped and any house, duck, and holopad footage that might be relevant requisitioned and checked.”

“Already initiated it,” Reed said promptly.

“See – this is why I like working with you,” Josiah said approvingly.

Reed looked delighted by the praise. “Likewise, sir,” he murmured, his dark skin suffused with the faintest flush.

Josiah sat back in his chair and glanced at the IS, who was still sitting stiffly where he’d been placed, his hands resting on his knees.

“I don’t want Baumann to start the autopsy yet. Tell her to put the body on ice for now – and out of sight,” he said, standing up.

“Why? Where are you going?” Reed asked, surprised.

“To test a theory. Tell Baumann I’ll be joining her in a couple of minutes. Alexander – you’re with me.”

He led the IS to the lift and pressed the button for the mortuary. The lift doors closed, and they were alone for the first time. Alexander looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Josiah asked.

“Nothing.” Alexander lowered his gaze .

“You know, you’re interestingly quiet for a man in this kind of predicament.”

“Would protesting my innocence help?”

“No, but it might make you seem more normal. You do know what happens to indentured servants found guilty of murdering their houders, don’t you?”

Alexander shrugged. “I believe it carries the death penalty.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Don’t you care about your life? Do you want to die? Is that it?”

“I do not want to die,” Alexander replied softly.

“Then you need to start cooperating with me, because right now, I’m all that stands between you and that death penalty.”

“Really?” Alexander raised an eyebrow. “You’re Josiah Raine, the famous indiehunter. Everyone knows you hate indentured servants, and why, so you must forgive me for not believing you are my best hope.”

Josiah felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He clenched his fists hard and glared down at the IS, but Alexander stood his ground and stared straight back at him.

The lift doors opened, and he collected himself. This was no time to be out-psyched by a suspect; it was time to do a little out-psyching of his own.

He put his hand on the IS’s shoulder and deliberately squeezed. Alexander gave an almost imperceptible flinch – he hid it well, but Josiah was satisfied that he’d worked out the secret behind Alexander’s strange body language.

“Is there a reason why you delayed my post-mortem?” Dr Baumann demanded as they entered the mortuary.

“Yes. I want you to do a different examination first – on the living.” Josiah jerked his head at Alexander. “I could call in the duty doctor but that would take a while, and all I really need is a qualified witness.”

“A qualified witness to what?” Baumann asked, frowning.

Josiah glanced at Alexander, who stared back impassively.

“Take off your shirt,” Josiah ordered.

Alexander blinked, and Josiah caught a brief flicker of panic.

“Why?” he challenged .

“This is Doctor Baumann, a qualified pathologist. As I’m sure you know, that requires her to have a medical degree. It’s perfectly legal for a senior investigator to request a medical examination of a suspect by a qualified doctor. Are you sure you don’t want that lawyer, Alexander?”

Alexander gave a tight smile. “Quite sure.”

“Okay – so take off your shirt.”

Alexander stood there for a long moment, clearly fighting an internal battle, but Josiah was a patient man – if this indie wanted to play games, he’d picked the wrong person.

Finally, Alexander gave in. He put his hand on the top button … and then his manner changed. He looked up at Josiah through his eyelashes and shot him a provocative smile.

“You know, I don’t usually put out on a first date, Investigator Raine. But since you asked so nicely…”

He proceeded to undo his shirt slowly, teasingly, button by button, keeping eye contact with Josiah throughout. Baumann cleared her throat uncomfortably as the act took on an air of intimacy, more like a striptease than a medical exam.

Josiah stared the IS out, refusing to be provoked, although he was amused by the sheer cheek of it.

Finally, Alexander peeled open the garment, eased it off his shoulders, and let it drop onto a nearby chair. He had a smooth, waxed chest and a perfectly toned torso – clearly, he worked out regularly, which fitted his story about seeing a personal trainer.

“Like what you see, sir?” he asked flirtatiously.

Josiah saw through him; that performance had been pure distraction, designed to hide something he didn’t want him to see. “Turn around,” he ordered.

Alexander hesitated. Suddenly, he looked like a scared child, all his bravado gone. Then he lowered his gaze and, very slowly, did as he was told.

Baumann took a sharp intake of breath, and Josiah’s jaw tightened. Alexander’s back was covered in a frenzy of bite marks, red-and-purple bruises, and furious scratches. They were so vivid that Josiah could even make out the shape of fingers around a few of the bruises.

The wounds covered Alexander’s torso from the top of his shoulders to the waistband of his jeans. Now the way he’d been sitting made sense – he’d been leaning forward to make as little contact as possible between his injured flesh and the chair.

“Shit,” Baumann said. “That’s so fucked up.”

“Okay, you can turn back now,” Josiah said quietly.

Alexander swivelled around, his head bowed.

“I want you to do a full physical examination, Doctor Baumann,” Josiah ordered, “Including an internal exam. I want photographs and documented evidence of all his injuries.”

“An internal exam?” Baumann queried.

“If you’d prefer to wait for the duty doctor, that’s fine.”

“I’ll do it,” Baumann snapped, stomping off towards a nearby cupboard to fetch her equipment.

“Alexander, look at me, please,” Josiah commanded.

Alexander raised his head, his pale skin flushed with humiliation.

“You must be in some discomfort. Those are nasty injuries,” Josiah said gently.

“What makes you think they’re injuries?” Alexander challenged. “Maybe they’re the result of some particularly passionate sex.”

He snorted. “A love bite here or there, or the occasional bruise – sure – but what you’ve got there” – he waved his hand at Alexander’s back – “could only be the result of a sustained assault. Am I wrong?”

Alexander blinked fiercely a couple of times, and then dropped his gaze again. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m just not used to anyone defining what happens to me in those terms.”

“Dacre obviously abused you recently – within the past two or three days, I’d say, judging by the colour of the bruises. It would be understandable if you’d snapped and killed him as a result of that abuse. Is there anything you want to confess?”

Alexander shot him a reproving look. “You’re assuming Elliot did this to me. That’s careless of you, Investigator Raine.”

That brought Josiah up short. “Dacre didn’t cause your injuries?”

“No,” Alexander said firmly.

“Then how did you come by those injuries?”

“Elliot liked to show me,” Alexander said unexpectedly .

“Show you?” Baumann returned, holding her medical kit. “What do you mean?”

Alexander glanced at her ID tag and gave a rueful smile. “I’m guessing the nature of your servitude is different to mine, Doctor. I was sold through the penal system, on an unlimited licence. I can therefore be used for any purpose my houder chooses, as long as it’s within the law.”

“Prostitution of an indentured servant is not within the law – it’s illegal,” Josiah told Baumann.

She looked from Josiah to Alexander, a puzzled expression on her face.

“But showing your IS at a big public event, as you would a dog or cat, isn’t,” Josiah continued. “If, whilst at that show, another houder takes a liking to your IS, and you to theirs… well, there’s nothing to stop you swapping them for the night, is there? Technically, it’s not quite prostitution.”

Baumann’s forehead wrinkled in disgust. “Shit, I had no idea… I mean, I’ve heard of those shows, but I just thought it was stupid, vain sponsors, with more money than sense, being ridiculous.”

“Sponsors?” Josiah raised an eyebrow. “Most people call them ‘houders’ – contract holders. You’re Dutch – you should know that.”

The term had somehow crept into the language when large numbers of refugees from the Netherlands had flooded into the country, and was now used by pretty much everyone.

“I do, but if we change the language, we can change the system. To you, ‘houder’ is just shorthand for ‘owner’ because you think of indentured servants as slaves,” she flared. “Isn’t that how you see me? As some kind of slave?”

He glanced at the identity necklace around her throat, and the microchip winking under the skin of her wrist.

“Can you leave this job if you want? No,” he told her tersely. “Can you travel freely without asking for permission? No. Are you obliged to wear personal items that mark you out as someone’s property? Yes. Will you be tracked down and returned if you try to abscond? Yes,” he rapped out. “The definition of a slave is ‘one bound in servitude as the property of a person, household, or organisation’. Explain to me the difference between that and your situation. Or his.” He jerked his head at Alexander.

“My family came from a country that doesn’t even exist anymore,” she snapped. “But we aren’t being a burden to others, living in their houses, sponging off them – we’re giving something back. We’re earning our place.”

“And what about him?” Josiah gestured at Alexander. “Taken to a ‘show’, given by his ‘sponsor’ to someone he was obliged to service sexually, and abused. How would you class him?”

“He’s a prisoner, sold into indentured servitude in order to pay for the crime he committed. He’s clearly been mistreated, which isn’t right, but that’s not the fault of the IS system.”

“Maybe not, but he’s a good example of how the system works.”

“It’s a system that’s enabled me to get an education, a good job, and a roof over my head,” Baumann said heatedly. “It’s only people like you who tarnish it.”

“People like me?”

“Oh, everyone knows what you are, indiehunter.” She spat the nickname in his face. “You arrested this poor man without even considering if anyone else had killed Elliot Dacre, because in your world, if a sponsor is murdered, then of course it has to be the IS. Will you even bother investigating this murder further? No, why the hell would you, when the indie is such an easy target?”

“You’re new here, and you have no idea what my working methods are,” Josiah said tightly.

Alexander was watching them argue like a spectator at a tennis match, his head moving from side to side, captivated.

“I know enough! I’ve read about you. You hate indentured servants. You’re obsessive about tracking us down – if a crime could possibly have been committed by an IS, you’re all over it! You think we’re subhuman just because we wear an ID tag.”

“I didn’t invent the system.”

“No, but you’re poisoning it for the rest of us. It’s people like you who are turning us into outcasts with your scare stories and accusations.”

“My accusations? ”

“Yes!” she raged. “First, there was that poor, scared runaway you chased all over the country in a manner that was frankly obscene. I could barely look at a screen without seeing you in some town or other telling us how dangerous he was and how you were so close to catching him. Then there was that politician’s IS you arrested. You made sure you got maximum press coverage for both those cases – that’s why they gave you that ridiculous nickname – indiehunter .” She said it with a sneer, which had him suspecting this speech had been festering for a long time.

“It’s clear you enjoy every minute of it,” she continued. “You love being the big bad indiehunter, chasing down servants and making a media circus of bringing them to justice. No wonder the press is whipping people into a frenzy of righteous indignation about how dangerous we all are. You and people like you have made us into the ‘other’, and now we’re being attacked for it.”

“No, I’m just doing my job – and I suggest you do yours,” Josiah said, with a glare so icy it seemed to defuse some of her heat.

She pursed her lips together, abruptly turned her back on him, and began preparing the room for her medical examination.

Josiah turned back to the IS. “Alexander – when was this show and where?”

“Last Saturday, at the Traveller’s Inn hotel on Eden Floating City,” Alexander replied, still looking hugely entertained by the argument that had just taken place.

“So, Dacre gave you to another houder for the night, and he or she beat you?”

“It was a man, and yes, he did.”

“Do you know who he was?” Josiah asked.

Alexander shrugged. “He was just another houder. He had a pretty blond boy that Elliot wanted to sleep with.”

“And what did Dacre say when you were returned to him the following day in this damaged condition?” Josiah gestured at Alexander’s back.

“He was upset. He blamed himself, and he told me he’d never make me go to a show again.”

“Did you believe him? ”

“I’m sure he meant it when he said it.”

Josiah caught the equivocation. “But you didn’t believe him?” Alexander hesitated. “You must see that all the evidence so far is against you,” Josiah told him. “I could take you to court right now, point to the marks on your back, and tell them that you killed Elliot Dacre because you were angry about what had happened to you at the show, and scared that he would force you to do it again.”

“Then why don’t you?” Alexander asked quietly. “Why don’t you charge me right now, if you think you have enough evidence to convict me? Nobody will be surprised to hear that yet another indie has killed his houder, especially not when that indie is the notorious Alexander Lytton. The media camped outside have already decided I’m guilty, and, as Doctor Baumann has pointed out, your reputation speaks for itself. Why bother asking me any more questions?”

Josiah drew himself up to his full height and took a step forward. “Because I’m the senior investigator on this case, and the only way any of my cases go to court is when I am certain I’ve found the perpetrator,” he rapped out. “I don’t care how something ‘looks’ or how it ‘seems’. I want facts, and I’ll keep digging until I’m satisfied. So, you won’t be going to court unless I’m damn sure you’re guilty.”

“And right now, you’re not?”

“I’ve only just started this investigation – you’ll know when I’m done,” Josiah said. “You say you’re innocent, and maybe you are – I don’t know enough, yet. But if you are innocent, then the more you tell me, the more I can help you. So, I suggest you work with me, answer my questions in full, and be honest, even if you think it’ll prejudice your case. Because I’ll find out if you’ve lied to me, and then it’ll be much worse for you.”

“Very well, sir,” Alexander said softly, lowering his head in a semblance of compliance that Josiah didn’t trust for a second.

“Good. Now, did you believe Elliot Dacre when he said he wouldn’t show you again?” Josiah repeated.

Alexander shook his head. “No. Elliot wasn’t a bad man, but he was selfish. He liked to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and he enjoyed showing me too much to stop. There was the cachet for him of being my houder, and he got his pick of a wide selection of attractive young indies to sleep with as a result.”

“Were you worried about being taken to this show and being forced to spend the night with another abusive houder?” Josiah asked. “Did that make you anxious?”

“No, because it wasn’t my decision – it was Elliot’s. I had no say in it.”

“But you must have had an opinion about it,” Josiah pressed.

“No, sir,” Alexander replied, and that puzzling blank expression was back in his eyes.

Josiah had the sudden realisation that Alexander had, at some point, learned to conceal his true feelings so well that they were completely unreadable – which meant that the man standing so serenely in front of him could be a complete psychopath or a total innocent, and Josiah couldn’t tell which.

The one thing he did know was that if he got this wrong, he could unleash a cunning, ruthless killer back into the world – or condemn an innocent man to death.